


Sleeping With The Fishes

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Dirty Talk, M/M, Smut, bad sex talk, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Arthur accidentally becomes embroiled with Eames in a weird nautical-themed in joke. He's less than pleased, for a while anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based off some kind of conversation about "oh what if I get the prompt kraken!Arthur and I'm not sure how to write tentacles" and my response was something like "it can all be a misunderstanding!"... And here we are. 
> 
> Seven years after joining the Inception fandom I finally write a fic. Lolol what a surprise it's crack(ish) and porn.  
> Thank you [QueenThayet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/pseuds/QueenThayet) for beta-ing and putting up with me trying to litter Arthur's pov with britishisms.

  _Aka. How To Write About Kraken!Arthur without any tentacles._  
Or How Many Puns Does It Take To Make Arthur Fall For You? (The answer is apparently 8).

 

1.

 

"You've got a crackin' arse though, I will say that."

Arthur looks at the shabbily dressed man with the unfortunate shirt and annoyingly attractive face, a pinched look marring his own features, "What? What does that even mean? Did you just liken my ass to a giant octopus? Are English people even real?" Arthur turns to Cobb accusingly, "Where did you find this man?"

"Marakesh." Cobb answers, which is absolutely not useful at this moment.

"That answers nothing." He turns back to face the abrasive English man, "Mr. Eames, I ask that you stop drinking on the job or you will very quickly discover that you no longer _have_ a job."

Eames does nothing but laugh in response, "You're a riot, darling."

 

2.

 

Two days later Eames deposits a bottle of Kraken rum on Arthur's desk, looking exceptionally pleased with himself, his large plump lips twisted into a smouldering grin.

Arthur looks at the bottle skeptically, "And this is what..? For me to supervise because you are wholly unable to restrain yourself?"

"Sweetheart, I think you underestimate my restraint. I got a corkin' Johnny Walker just watching you strut around, sympathise with me, yeah?" He's leaning on the side of Arthur's desk, his revolting satin suit jacket (in tan!) billowing open to reveal his mint green shirt. Looking at it gives Arthur a headache.

Arthur's pinched looks increases double fold just trying to contemplate what the man was talking about. "Right… I am fluent in seventeen languages, parse two hundred more - some of which are actually dead - and that's without considering what I can _read_ \- but I have literally no idea what you just said to me." Eames' grin just broadens, leaning closer like Arthur's speech is in fact a gift for him. "But don't worry Mr. Eames, I definitely pity you." Arthur gets up, grabbing his moleskin and makes to leave the building.

"I said sympathise, not pity!" shouts Eames behind him.

 

3.

 

The next day Eames arrives wearing a (surprisingly snug) sailor costume. It's off white with blue detail, and clearly two sizes too small. There's an anchor on the sleeve. A sleeve that barely contains the thick muscle of Eames' arm. It is positively offensive, how fucking _thick_ and tragically unrestrained the man looks.

Eames is staring at him with a knowing smirk, lowering himself into a chair, his legs open to reveal how the material _pinches_ around his thighs. It's a truly disgusting outfit. Annoyingly, Arthur’s eyes dance up and down Eames body, taking in the full image of it, distracted only momentarily when what is very clearly Eames' cock - _totally visible through that travesty of an outfit -_ twitches.

Arthur flinches, frowns and at his reaction, opens the rum and takes a shot from the bottle, before leaving the building.

He doesn't come back until Cobb has promised him Eames is wearing something else.

 

4.

 

Arthur is granted a few days peace, which is good, as they actually have an incredibly dangerous and complicated job on their hands. To top it all off, it’s Arthur’s role to make sure that none of them end up dead. They're finally working on the dream build at least, and Eames finally has a job to do in this whole thing.

"Come down love, let me show you what I've got?"

Eames is supposed to be forging three different people in this job, the most time intensive role will be the mark's wife. But the friendly doorman was also a challenge due to his strange Ukraine- _cum_ -Canadian accent.

"Of course."

Arthur goes under feeling pleased that his colleague is finally taking the job seriously, and wakes up in some kind of marina. "Mr Eames - what the actual fuck?"

"Darling! I thought I'd make you feel at home!" A large yacht swans by, barely missing a barge that is at the mouth of the waterway.

"We're here to see your forge."

"I know, but I heard you had a thing for seamen, and wanted to give you a ride on my little boat." His mouth is doing that smirk thing again, a hint of crooked teeth visible between the lips, and Arthur is reminded just how infuriating it is. "A _kraken_ idea, no?"

Arthur doesn't have a clue what Eames is saying. It doesn't matter. He gets out his gun and shoots Eames in the leg. The man goes down - dropping the glasses of champagne he was holding - blood soaking the disgusting ivory pants he'd been wearing even in the dream. Just for the crime against fashion - _and Arthur's eyes_ \- Arthur throws his gun aside and decides to drown him instead.

 

5.

 

Eames is clearly a bit more wary of him now, which puts Arthur far more at ease. Apparently he didn't realise how fast Arthur was with a gun, and has taken this information to heart enough to at least give him some space. It's pleasing to him; up until now he's found Eames' constant teasing deeply concerning. Arthur is young, younger than a lot of people in the business and definitely the youngest point man around. Not many people like to trust someone born after Star Wars was released with their lives when there's a gun to their back. Fortunately, during his years in dreamshare he's managed to establish himself as wholly professional, deadly when crossed, and a crack shot. It's the kind of reputation he needs to keep himself in employment. Something about Eames' constant attempts to unravel him, to find some kind of weakness, has had him on edge ever since they met.

It doesn't really make sense why Eames does it, however; he's researched the man, noting that his current mainstay alias didn't exist before 2004 and that the majority of the intel about him is contradictory. _The truth is probably in there somewhere, obscured by all the obvious bullshit_ , _not a bad tactic._ He's unpredictable and Arthur can't really work out his angle in this. The distance between them therefore is a welcomed respite.

He does come in one day and find a Valentine’s day card (it's August) tucked into his second (of five) moleskin. "You're the fish to my chips" reads the card's front. Inside is an incredibly good drawing of a boat being devoured by a giant octopus. The sole sailor onboard has a speech bubble above him: "You've got a lovely arse!" it appears to say to the monster.

Arthur stares at the card for three whole minutes, wholly unsure what he's supposed to do with it.

 

6.

 

Disaster strikes three weeks into the job; they're supposed to hit the mark in four days and get this whole thing tied up in under a month, but then the mark’s mother-in-law takes a fall and the whole family fly from Stockholm to Bern. It's a complete spanner in the works.

"Is it still salvageable?" Cobb asks him, face crumpled.

"Yes, but twice as long. We won't know when they're returning and won't be able to plan another entry point until we do." Cobb looks even unhappier, he has a wife and a kid at home waiting for him. This job wasn't supposed to take so long.

"Right, do you think we'll need to change anything about the build?" Arthur knows why Cobb is asking, and to be honest he's pretty fucking pissed that the man is trying to bail on him. But it's makes sense.

"Go. You're not needed, keep your phone _on._ The minute he's back in Stockholm you need to be here, okay?" Sometimes he feels a trickle of embarrassment that he treats a man so clearly his senior as an unruly teenager. Then he remembers the time he let Cobb pick a job without vetting it first, and almost got them all killed.

"Thanks Arthur. I'll give Mal your best." Arthur rolls his eyes, and begins investigating the medical center the old lady is in. He wonders if it's worth the money to try and bribe the doctors into suggesting that the mark's family take her home. Probably too traceable though.

"Just you and me then Darling." Eames pulls his chair close enough to Arthur that the heat of the man’s - _still noticeably thick_ \- thigh feels scorching next to his own. Their chemist wasn't due to arrive until the day before the job, and he's already called her to go on standby instead.

"You can go home too, Mr. Eames." He doesn't look at the man, trying his best to ignore him. It's fucking infuriating how Eames tries to insinuate himself into Arthur's space, trying to undermine Arthur's strictly set personal boundaries. At this rate he is never ever going to work with the forger again, lest his behaviour encourage others to begin ignoring his carefully erected personal walls.

"That'd be a wasted opportunity."

Arthur looks at him, discerningly, "Opportunity for what?"

Eames grins at him, like Arthur is finally getting with the program. "To get to know you a little better."

Arthur frowns at him, "Just because you can't do some decent background research on your colleagues doesn't mean I'm going to make it easier for you."

Eames gives him a strange look, "Darling, I have no idea what you're talking about, and I only speak two languages."

Arthur's frown becomes a scowl, "You speak at least seven, and you can write Latin - albeit badly." Eames is lying to him, and worse, underestimating Arthur's own research abilities.

Eames doesn't appear to be angry at this, in fact his face lights up in delight. "Darling! I didn't know you cared!"

"Go home Mr. Eames, I'll contact you when the job's back on."

"Come to dinner with me."

"What? No."

"Come to dinner with me, and I'll go. Unless it turns out you want me to stay after all."

"That is incredibly unlikely."

"But not impossible." Eames is leering at him, but then defaults back to his grin. "One little meal, and then I'm out of your hair."

Arthur thinks about it. He thinks about the luxury of having to run point on this without Eames' constant badgering. On making the possibly month long break something productive instead of an extended babysitting job.

"What would we be eating?"

Eames face bursts into a truly overwhelming smile. "Calamari."

 

  
7.

 

Eames heads back to Dhaka, Bangladesh, a little put out that the European job ended without him getting the _lovely_ Arthur's contact details. He'd asked Cobb even. "Er, sorry Eames. But I have the feeling if I give you Arthur's email, he genuinely might kill me in my sleep." Since Eames has experienced Arthur's abilities in efficiently murdering someone, he doesn't begrudge him. He was just so sure that when he managed to crowd the delightfully rumple-able man into a noisy sushi bar he’d manage to extract it from him at some point. Mostly he’d learned that Arthur can eat his own weight in food - _how does he stay so skinny??_ \- and that the man might genuinely hate him.

His flight touches down and he’s jostled by the steady stream of bustling people in the airport, _a few pockets are picked, he doesn’t find anything very interesting_ , when he receives a text.

**Kerala. 7pm local time.**

There’s no name attached to the text, but Eames feels a ripple of excitement as to whom it may be.

**Darling, is that you? Have you put a hit out on me?**

He was supposed to be meeting some people about a topside art theft that required some forged provenance papers, but the promise of seeing Arthur again is a far more appetising option.

**Destroy this phone. You’re a security risk.**

Arthur still hasn’t confirmed his identity, but his anal obsession towards keeping them all untraceable is more telling than a signature.

**Like a lighthouse, your beacon calls me to you.**

The text doesn’t deliver however, Arthur has clearly already disposed of his phone. Eames turns around and buys a ticket to South India.

 

  
8.

 

It’s more humid this far south, even with August being Bangladesh’s most humid month it’s nothing compared to the wet close air that hangs around Cochin airport. At least when he steps outside the seabreeze kisses his skin intermittently, he muses. He’d opted for Cochin over Thiruvananthapuram airport as it was bigger, but either way he had no real idea how Arthur was expecting to find him.

_It would be a bit awkward if this turned out to be a hit._

He gets out his phone and tries calling Arthur again, it’s only 6pm but that gives him just an hour to get where he’s supposed to be - _wherever that is -_ and he’s only been to Kerala once before so doesn’t know his bearings. The phone doesn’t call through, a stilted robotic voice telling him the number has been disconnected.

“I told you to destroy that.”

Eames whips around and sees the man standing but a metre away. “Arthur! Darling, you look lovely! You’re not even wearing a tie!” The point man is still wearing fitted black dress trousers, and the midnight blue shirt he’s wearing is more formal than casual, but it is open at the collar - _Arthur’s delightfully pointy collar bones visible_ \- and his sleeves are rolled up.

Arthur frowns at him. “I like ties.” He takes the phone out of Eames’ hand, cracking open the case so he can take out the sim card and snap it in two.

“Oh don’t worry, I like you in them too.” He follows Arthur to a barrier overlooking the restless Indian ocean, watching as Arthur throws all the components over the side. He likes the way the fine muscles in Arthur’s visible forearms shift in the exertion, and he suddenly wonders just where Arthur could be possibly be keeping his gun in such a well tailored outfit.

Arthur still hasn’t said anything, which is a bit weird, as it was definitely his idea that they meet here. “Darling, I don’t mean to get fresh with you, but did you put a hit out on me?”

Arthur clearly says the word ‘fresh’ under his breath for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “No, I didn’t put a hit out on you. Why would I bring you to Kerala if I was going to kill you?”

Eames just gives him a smile and a shrug, “More romantic than Stokholm?”

Arthur considers this for a moment, “You’re right, there would probably be less paperwork here. But if I were looking for easy places to kill you I would have gone with Delhi.”

Eames can’t help but burst into a smile, he adores Arthur when he’s like this. A mixture of overly serious but not afraid to throw a punch in a discussion. He wants to put his hands all over him. “Ah, but if you had said Delhi I would have known it was a hit. No one goes to Delhi without expecting to get brutally murdered.”

He’s moved a little closer to Arthur, slouching his body against the railing so he can look up at the man for once instead of looking down at his perfectly styled head of hair. “That’s a lie,” Arthur answers him, lips pinched but Eames is hoping that he can see some warm humour wrinkled around his eyes, “You worked in Delhi two years ago with a team headed up by Housdon.”

Eames beams at him for apparently spending his evenings researching Eames’ history, “And I almost died in Delhi!”

“Yeah, but that’s because Housdon is a shit show, and your chemist was working for your mark.” Eames gives him a shocked look, he hadn’t actually known that.

“You’re very good at your job.”

It’s the first thing he has ever said that has made Arthur smile at him, and in that second he realises that all his - _mostly beaten down_ \- attempts were worth it. Because Arthur has a _radiant_ smile. “I like to be competent.”

Eames, _painfully aware that last time he tried to flirt so openly with Arthur near a large body of water he died a watery death_ , reaches up a hand to cup Arthur’s jaw, his thumb slipping into the dimple that had appeared for him. “Why did you invite me here, lovely?”

Arthur frowns again and Eames already mourns the loss of his smile. "Dom said you always speak like this." Eames gives him a quizzical look, not really understanding the point, and Arthur answers by rolling his eyes. "You know, with the abrasive English slang, sounding like you're posh one minute and some, I don't know... a _vagabond_ the next."

Eames grins at him, "That's what happens when you grow up on both sides of the tracks, Darling."

"So you haven’t been doing it to try to undermine me?" Eames gives him a prying look as an initial response, trying to understand what he means.

"Sometimes I wonder what must be going on in that pretty little head of yours, I've never tried to undermine you. Undress you, now that's something I've been trying pretty hard to do."

Arthur's eyes get that amused-frustrated glint to them again. "Yeah, he said you were flirting with me."

"Was it really not that obvious?"

"Well, I thought you were trying to kill me with that fucking sailor outfit." Arthur snaps, his mouth threatening to split open into a smile again.

"I thought you would like it." Eames answers with a soft leer.

"I'm surprised you didn't get arrested for public indecency on the way in."

"Almost. Someone did ask me if I was a stripper on the train." Arthur lets out a peal of laughter and it's literally music to Eames' ears.

"Yeah, so, I guess I tried to see things in a different light after that."

"Not so worried I was after your well-guarded trade secrets then?"

"More like ruin my reputation in dreamshare. It helped that Dom said you went to college with Mal."

Eames grins at him. "I bet you loved adding that detail to your little filofax." Arthur's lips pinch, and Eames can't help but laugh, "You have one! Don't you? Oh Darling. You wonderfully anal little octopus."

"Eames, this is what I meant, nothing you say makes sense." But the slighter man had shifted closer to him anyway, and even though they were on a busy street - busses rattling in the background, hoards of workers and tourists alike walking just beside them - Eames felt the little bubble between them, confined and intimate.

"It means I think you're a riot, an experience, a delight. It means I've been thinking about kissing you since I saw your lips pout in frustration over me."

"Anger. Not frustration. You were compromising the job." Eames could feel Arthur's breath against his own lips.

"Luckily for me you're so competent at everything then."

Arthur, obviously trying to conceal it at first, simply beams at him. He closes his eyes for a second, and Eames is so certain they're going to kiss then, but instead the man opens them again - a downright mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Say the word kraken again."

Eames laughs, "Oh Arthur, kraken of my heart. Please drown me in your delightfully sartorial limbs."

"I have no idea why I find you hot."

 

 

  


### A Sex Epilogue: A Sexilogue You Could Say.

 

Eames had wanted to walk into the first hotel they could find but Arthur had very quickly shot that idea down. "I just spent two months staying somewhere with less than three stars to stay low profile, my suits deserve hotel dry cleaning." Luckily Eames had capitulated easily.

It means they take over an hour until they're finally in a room with a lock on it, and Arthur is trying to fiddle with the air conditioning when Eames insinuates himself behind him. "Darling, please. Tell me I get to see what's under these lovely clothes of yours."

Arthur leans back against him, letting Eames' broad body take his weight. "What would you say if I said I wanted dinner first?" Eames has slipped his hands into the pockets of Arthur's pants and was making a job of trying to find the line of his underwear. _He will quickly find out that Arthur isn't wearing any._

"Cry soddin' tears, sacrifice a goat to Poseidon to help convince my watery beast." Eames bites the tendons in Arthur's neck and it makes him shiver, pushing his ass back on instinct to grind against Eames’ erection.

"That sounds unhygienic. _Fuck._ " Arthur answers, breaking off as Eames’ hand finds his cock and strokes it through the material of his trousers, rough little scrapes against his sensitive skin.

"Oh undeniably. I'd be up to my gills in goat’s blood."

Arthur turns around and kisses him, _finally_ shutting him up and sucking on the those _infuriatingly_ lips. "Stop talking about goat’s blood, it's not sexy," he says when they break apart, now only ten steps away from the bed.

Eames smiles at him. "Ah, it worked then. Thanks Poseidon.” He pushes Arthur onto the bed proper, and tries to get his hands on Arthur’s buttons, standing between his open legs.

Arthur frowns at him, “I really didn’t expect you to be so… nautical.”

“Fuck,” Eames responds, “say that again.”

“Nautical?” Arthur helps him with the last few buttons of his shirt.

“Yes, it sounds lovely from your mouth. What a naughty nautical fiend you are, let’s put my cock in your mouth.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate ploy to drive me crazy and ruin my career?” Arthur however has started opening Eames’ pants, shoving them down along with his boxers so Arthur can get a hand around the base. A nice cock, thick - _like fucking everything else about Eames_ \- and uncut around the head, which Arthur had assumed would be the case ever since he saw the outline through Eames’ offensive costume.

“Oh definitely. I’m hoping no one wants to work with you but me, in fact- Shit! Fuck Arthur, _darling_ , don’t you need to breath? Wait silly me, you’ve got gills of course.” Arthur leans back from where he had the bulk of Eames’ dick in his mouth.

“Gills are for underwater,” Arthur retorts before diving back in, letting his tongue flick over the head each time he pulls back, and mostly encouraging the length to fill his throat.

“Oh my days, Arthur, _Arthur._ Is that an invitation to fuck you in a swimming pool? You’d look lovely in a little swim suit. Fuck! Alright, fuck-” Arthur is exceptionally pleased he’s managed to shut up Eames for a while, speeding up his rhythm. Eames’ hands are everywhere: in his hair, encouraging him to swallow down his cock, tracing over his lips and cheeks, so he can feel the stretch of Arthur’s mouth around his fat erection. He makes a mad dash to remove more of Arthur’s shirt. He pushes it down in a way that probably isn’t great for the fabric, but Arthur can’t bring himself to care because every time he pulls back he can taste Eames leaking onto his tongue and it is _intoxicating_.

“Uh, _Arthur, Arthur-_ ” Arthur might also be a little bit addicted to the way Eames says his name, “-Darling I’m not going to last, if you were hoping for me to fuck you that’s going to get pushed off for about an hour any second now. Shit, _Christ,_ where did you learn to _do_ that?” Arthur hums around the dick in his mouth, swallowing every time he moves forward, taking in enough that his nose touches Eames’ hairy stomach. At the last moment he brings up his other hand and cups Eames sac, rubbing along with his bobbing motion. Eames comes undone, his hands darting back into Arthur’s hair so he can repeatedly guide his cock into Arthur’s willing mouth, spilling down his throat in sharp little thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” Arthur swallows, sucking on the pulsing dick in his mouth.

Eames sighs when he’s done, and Arthur happily begins licking him clean - _he’s a perfectionist for a reason_ \- but Eames, because he’s _Eames,_ appears to become more passionate and frantic after coming.

“My darling, look at you. Fuck you’re so hot. Why are you wearing any clothes? Are you scared of showing off your scales-”

“Fuck off Eames.”

“-I’m sure they’re lovely. Let’s get you out of this. And this, fuck Christ, let me kiss you.”

It’s a little bit like being devoured. Eames doesn’t seem to care that his dick is out and his pants are half off, he’s hell bent in revealing more of Arthur’s skin and kissing it. Quickly, Arthur is completely disrobed, rolling his eyes at how excited Eames was over his sock braces. “Darling! These are delightful! You have to let me wank off over these one day.” And Arthur can’t even find himself being disgusted because there’s a pleasant hum in the back of his mind from Eames already wanting to do this more, in the future, with him

“How do you want it?” Eames murmurs into his ear, a breath hot and wet, and Eames articulates it by licking over the shell and nosing the soft damp hair behind there. Arthur moans, he’s ridiculously aroused now.

“I need you to put your hands on my dick.” He answers, cupping his prick already and considering just jerking himself.

“Ah, well that can be arranged.” Eames pulls Arthur against his body like they were spooning, Eames is still half dressed and Arthur’s eyes get distracted on how the horrible linen material bunches over his biceps, interrupted only by Eames sliding an arm underneath him so he can slip a hand around Arthur’s prick.

“Shit.” Arthur whines, the trapped position means that Eames is just making fast little jerks over the head and that in and of itself is glorious, but not enough. He tries curling forward so he can more easily thrust into Eames’ grip, but Eames brings him back.

“None of that love. Let me kiss you.” He brings Arthur’s jaw back around so he can plunder Arthur’s mouth with his tongue. Arthur moans, sucking on the mouthful but wishing he could get more from the stimulation on his cock. He whines in Eames’ mouth, trying to express his need.

“I know, Darling,” Eames croons when he finally gives Arthur space to breathe, “Suck on these for me then.” Arthur dutifully accepts the fingers in his mouth, lewdly mouthing them to encourage Eames to jerk him faster. His body is still twisted towards Eames so he can’t thrust forward, but the man’s hand has at least become wet with precum and now slips over the head of his cock easily. “That’s it, you’re so good for me my little seahorse.” Eames mumbles against his scalp. Arthur thinks he’s going to go crazy between the _almost enough_ pleasure and Eames’ appalling sex talk.

He groans when his mouth is finally free, and rolls forward so his hips can snap into the tight fist in front of him. Eames bends one of his legs forward with a heavy thigh, and begins stroking over his hole with his now damp fingers. It makes Arthur hiss in pleasure, his body tensing at just the threat of stimulation. “Yes, please, yes.” He sounds shameless, and he has a ridiculous fear that maybe this was Eames’ plan all along to embarrass him, but then the forger gives him what he wants and pushes a finger _in,_ and he stops caring about anything else in the world.

Arthur does this enough to himself enough that his body accepts Eames’ readily, and now he can’t make up his mind if he wants to push back onto the digit opening him or the hand jerking him.

“That’s it, you’re so fuckin’ hot Darling. You look wrecked, I thought about you like this ever since I saw you all buttoned up in your little suits. That plump arse of yours on show, didn’t think I’d get to have it though. Didn’t know you’d be so mad for it. That’s it, does that feel good love? You’re squirming like an eel.” Eames is pumping his hand into him at a completely different rhythm to how he’s stroking him, and it’s exquisite, he’s going to climax. If Eames would just fucking shut his mouth about sea creatures.

“Shut up! Fuck! _Fuck!_ ” He comes all over Eames hand, already laughing because Eames is saying something about catching him in a net. “You’re the worst, I’m going to have a complicated relationship with the discovery channel now.”  

Eames laughs back at him, sitting up so he can pull off his shirt and use it to mop up the worst of the mess. Arthur is initially offended at such an abuse of clothes, but Eames’ shirt was a travesty already and probably deserved to be put in the trash.

Eames shakes off his pants and climbs back on top of Arthur, limbs everywhere, hands holding onto Arthur’s wrists and bringing them close to his body so Eames can tuck them together. Arthur’s not even entirely sure how Eames has managed to tuck his legs under and over his own, but it probably has something to do with the fact that Eames is mostly lying on top of him.

“How come I’m the octopus when you’re the one who does this?” Arthur grumbles, secretly pleased that Eames is a post-sex cuddler and not already making an exit plan.

“You’re much scarier than me,” Eames says against his neck, “and you were difficult to get hold of.”

Arthur snorts, “I suppose I’m now meant to say something like ‘ _watch yourself or you’ll be sleeping with the fishes_ ’”

Eames’ laugh mostly sounds like a deep rumble and Arthur can feel it against his skin. “That was a crackin’ good one, Darling.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, the aircon has finally come on and there was a chill to the room. “I still think you’re drunk half the time,” he says extricating an arm and pulling the sheet over them.

“Drunk on you maybe,”  Eames says, snuggling even closer. Arthur doesn’t bother trying to come up with a response, he just closes his eyes and lets sleep take him

 

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? I enjoyed myself & I'm pretty sure I'm good to write more of the dreamhusbands.


End file.
